


Untouchable Queen

by Zira



Series: A Host of Snippets [2]
Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Mental Mastering, Shardswap, Taylor with August Pince's powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22058104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zira/pseuds/Zira
Summary: You want to hurt Taylor? You can't - her power's a royal pain
Relationships: (one sided), Victoria Dallon | Glory Girl/Taylor Hebert | Skitter | Weaver
Series: A Host of Snippets [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1573387
Comments: 85
Kudos: 260





	1. Don't stop me now, I'm having such a good time

Taylor hums softly, spreading out a dress on the dining table. Her father watches her quietly, sipping on a mug of hot chocolate, “I thought you hated wearing dresses and skirts?”

She adjusts a ribbon on the dress, making sure it will hang right to properly hide the fact that it is covering the awkwardly sewn in pockets she’s added, “I need to look different when I fight crime, dad.”

He looks at her, and a glance at him shows he’s a little wary, “Are you sure this is going to be okay?”

She smiles, walking over to him and hugging him, “No one can hurt me. Remember?”

He places his mug down, hugging her with a caring firmness, not at all crushing, “I know, I know. I just…” He sighs, looking down at her, “I hate the idea of you being out with all the gangers, maybe getting hurt.”

She laughs, “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“We should still get you some armor or-”

Tapping his nose, Taylor laughs, beaming at him, “I have powers, daddy. No one can hurt me ever again. _Especially_ since you pulled me out of there.” 

He pulls her back into a hug, this one as tight as he can, and she knows without her power, he’d be accidentally hurting her, “They made you _trigger_ , sweetheart. I can’t… I won’t ever let you be hurt like that again.”

“Could have been worse, dad. I’ll be _just fine_.” She kisses his cheek, “Now, I’m gonna go get in the costume, and I want to know what you think.”

“Alright, alright.” 

She walks up to her room, double and triple checking to be sure the windows all have the blinds or curtains drawn as she goes, and gets changed. She makes sure she has the leggings under her dress, and the long sleeved gloves on, to be certain she can better hide as she makes her way to her planned patrol route. Checking her mirror, she pats her hair, and places the sculpted mask on her face. Heading back to her father, she asks, “How is this?”

He walks over, adjusting a few things, and says, “We should hide your hair. It’s so distinctive.”

“But I _love_ my hair.”

“I know, I know. But it should be put in a style you typically won’t wear. Like.…” He hums thoughtfully, “Your mother used to put her hair in a bun, how about we try that?”

She shrugs, bunching her hair up, and then letting it go. It instantly falls back down around her shoulders. “Ah, that didn’t work.”

He rolls his eyes, and steps behind her, carefully gathering her hair up in his hands. Her father slowly twists it up tightly, and carefully sticks something in it. “There.”

She glances at him, “What did you do?”

Leading her to a mirror, he grins at her as she gasps softly, “It is just a fancy looking hair comb, meant to hold the hair in place like that. But I knew when you said you were going for a queen sort of look, well….” He puts an arm over her shoulder, “What is a queen without her crown, my little Regina?”

She blinks a little, staring at the reflection of the little crown holding her hair in place. Giving in, she turns abruptly, and grabs her father tightly, hugging him tightly. He pushes on her softly, and she lets go slowly, saying, “Thank you. I love it.” She bites her lower lip, “Where did you get it?”

He laughs, kissing her head, “You’re welcome, sweetheart. I got it at a garage sale a week or so ago. I saw it and instantly knew you needed to have it. What is a queen without her crown, after all? Now, go tuck up that dress, and put on the large coat I got you with the hat, and I’ll head to the car to drive you to a private area you can hide them. Do you have the-” He cuts himself off, rallying himself, “Do you have the cellphone?”

She pats her dress, blushes, and hurries over to pick up the small purse with the thin chain to put on her shoulder, and opens it, showing him the little flip phone, “Right here. You have yours?”

He pulls it from his jacket pocket, “Yup. You have the battery out?”

She shows him the empty back, and he nods. She smiles, tilting her head, “Let me cover up, and we can head out.”

“Alright, I’ll put the hat on you so you can hide the crown. The zipties still there?”

Showing him what’s in the purse, she notes his nodding, and starts tucking the skirt of the dress up so it will be hidden, and then puts on her large coat. Her dad adjusts the hood, ushering her out the door as soon as it’s all done, and locking the door behind them.

“And I’ll be in the all night diner, just give me a fair warning.”

“I will, don’t worry.”

\--

Spinning a bit just for something to do, she kind of wishes for a shawl on her shoulders. She doesn't hurt, and isn’t even sure if the weather will hurt her, but a shawl is queen-like, right? Yeah.

She shivers a little, continuing on, and hums loudly as she walks along. Best to make people know she’s there, since accidental harm still hurts her. Shown when her father opened a door on her face a bit after her trigger. Rubbing her nose absently, she heads down an alleyway, singing the chorus of a catchy song softly. 

“What the fuck?” comes a yell further down the alley, and there’s a flash of light. “Bitch, go suck my gigantic horsecock and then get out of my-” At this point she stops really listening, since it’s super clear the man yelling these things is just going to insult her.

It’s also clear the man isn’t going to say anything personal that applies to her, so she just keeps walking. There’s another flash, and there’s a line across the alleyway, the man steps on and jets along it. He spews more insults, but she doesn't really pay much attention, just walking over to him, grabbing him by the throat, and slowly closing her hands, “I think that’s just about enough out of you, don’t you agree?”

He garbles out what is likely trying to be a string of insults, so she closes her hands just a bit more.

“Just nod or shake your head. A warning, if it’s an answer I don’t like, I wait until you pass out, and then we go from there.”

More garbled insults.

She proceeds to keep her hands around his throat, squeezing tighter until he passes out. The instant he does, she lets go, and makes sure that she hasn’t accidentally crushed his windpipe. A hand over his mouth and… Breathing. 

Which is good, she doesn't want her first night out to be accidental murder.

That means she should probably figure out a smarter way of doing this. She plans on being a _hero_ , after all, and heroes don’t kill! … _Most_ heroes don’t kill, anyway. Not on purpose. Her mind flashes to a few of the pictures on the internet she’s seen of aftermath of brutes messing up _really fucking badly_ , and winces.

Flipping the man on his side, she zipties his hands together at the wrists, and makes sure they’re connected properly. Her father says they’re not _really_ zipties, but something that looks a lot like them but has a chunk of metal running through them so they won’t break. But honestly, she’ll call them zipties if they look like zipties. 

Grabbing the man’s shirt, she drags him along to the mouth of the alley, and dials the PRT hotline. It isn’t even a full ring that she gets an answer, “PRT, how may we help you?”

“I,” she corrects herself hastily, “We’re a new hero, and We’ve captured a parahuman who was attempting to attack with his power.” Since the man can’t _actually_ attack her. But she could see him use his power, and he’s violent. Especially now that he’s waking up. “Can you-” She cuts off in annoyance as the parahuman starts cursing her out and screaming. Setting a foot on his stomach, she steps down, returning to her phone call, “Can you send someone to pick him up?”

She sighs softly when she can’t hear the operator, due to the man screaming, “You bitch! I’ll kill you! I’ll skullfuck you and your family! I’ll start with your mother-” He isn’t so fucking mouthy when she moves her foot from his stomach to his mouth, shoving it down firmly. Not enough to break any teeth, but the implication is certainly there.

“Would you repeat that? You may or may not have heard him, but he was very loud.”

“Ma’am? Is it just you, or is it a team of heroes that brought him down?”

“It is just us. Our name is Regina.” 

“Ma’am, singular or-”

“Just the one. We are a single cape, named Regina.” She’s pretty sure she seems crazy, but eh. Her power is great, and she is allowed to pretend to be royalty all she wants. It also helps separate this from her civilian identity.

“I see, ma’am. Could you tell me where you are?”

She glances at the street signs, “We will be at the corner of Pathside and Twentieth.”

“Thank you, Ma’am, a person will be out to meet you before long.”

“Of course. We shall be there momentarily. Goodbye.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

She waits half a second to see if the operator will say anything else, but there’s only silence. Mentally shrugging, Taylor snaps the phone closed, and grabs the parahuman to drag him along. He returns to insulting her, and she rolls her eyes. “What’s your name, anyway?” she asks, not expecting an answer.

Which is probably a good thing, since he just says, “Gargle my magnum fuckstick, bitch!”

“So, Gargle, we’re not amused by your horrible behavior.”

“Stick it up your pu-”

“If you do not shut up, we will be forced to take drastic measures.” She only barely pays attention to him insulting her, and grabs the bottom of his shirt, yanking it so it rips, and shoves it in his mouth before putting a ziptie around his head and forcing him to keep the cloth there. “We warned you,” she informs him when he still attempts to talk like an idiot.

Maybe she should invest in earplugs and gags? That seems like a sensible reaction, if only to _not_ need to tolerate idiots constantly yelling garbage at her. Sticks and stones will not hurt her on purpose, but words can do lasting mental damage. Thanks, Emma! That’s useful information!

Bitch.

She scowls at nothing as she waits at the corner, only managing to keep from kicking Gargle petulantly by reminding herself how she _is_ a queen and must keep decorum …She should probably do some finishing lessons in her homeschooling. That seems like a good thing to research at the library.

She’s menatally tallying up what little she knows about such things: balancing a book on her head, proper way to talk, table manners; when there is the sound of a vehicle coming along the street. A careful look shows that a PRT van is showing up, finally. Standing a little straighter, she watches as they stop in front of her.

The back opens, and a man she easily recognizes as Dauntless steps out, giving her an incredibly tired looking smile, “Hello, Regina. We’re here to pick up the parahuman who attacked you?”

She waves a hand down at the man, “He informed us his name is Gargle-something or other. We stopped listening once it became clear it was a truly insulting name.”

“Ah, that… looks like Stain, actually. Could you give me a description of how he used his power?” The hero wobbles slightly, but maintains how he is standing, looking like he wants to take a nape, even as he pretends to look regal.

“He laid a line of light upon the ground, and stepped upon it. It shot him straight to us.”

Dauntless glances around, “Where’s the rest of your team?”

“We have no team. It is just us.”

“Justice?”

She stares at him, and then looks over to one of the troopers who is slowly moving closer, “May we talk to one of you, who is not so… insulting to us?”

One of the troopers visibly sighs, even if she can’t hear it, while the other walks over, putting a hand on Dauntless’s shoulder. The trooper says softly, but not so softly she is unable to hear it, “She’s using the royal we as a singular pronoun. She’s clearly showing off how she’s supposed to be royalty. See the crown and princess gown?” Then louder, to her, “Sorry, Regina, it is getting kinda late. He’s had a long day. We all have. We’d say more, but that’s kind of classified. Thanks for picking up Stain. He’s wanted for assault with a parahuman power, and a few other things.”

“We will thank you to put him in your vehicle, and off the streets. Perchance you will be able to clean him up and have him become a hero at another juncture.” It isn’t exactly a _secret_ that sometimes villains get pushed into the PRT, it’s just incredibly rare they remain in the city they’re arrested at. Maybe Gargle will become a better human being, who knows. “With luck, he will clean up his act, and his mouth.”

Dauntless looks at Gargle, “He is known to have a foul mouth. Understandable you’ve gagged him.” He leans down, picking Gargle up, “And good choice with the zipcuffs, most new heroes will just use zipties, thinking they’re the same thing. Those are easily escaped from.”

“We are aware. There are a great deal of tutorials for escaping such things.” All of which she actually knows, since while she thinks of those as harm - and her father can’t actually manage to tie her up, even when he’s planning on it nonviolently - what if someone with a power nullification manages it? Best to know and not need it, than to need it and not know it. 

That’s why the aglets of her shoelaces are actually cuff keys. She’s going to need to change where they go once she has proper queen shoes, but for now this is what they have.

Dauntless hands Gargle to the troopers, who start taking him to the PRT van. The man straightens up, saying, “I wish to invite you to the Wards. You are not safe alone, and the rate of death for independants is-”

“We have no wish to join in the schoolyard bickering of those our age,” she informs him. “We get enough of _that_ within the confines of our educational building.” Not really, anymore. She’s long gone from that garbage, but she’s damn sure saying she’s homeschooled will get her ass outed. No thanks.

“Are you sure? I can arrange a tour for you while you’re in costume. You could meet some of the Wards, and-”

“We have no intention upon doing such things. It is unfeasible for us to go.”

“Unfeasible? We could provide transportation, and-”

“No.” She crosses her arms, “We will not be scanned, and poked, and prodded. Measured to see how our powers might work. For should we accept, we will be hounded for information we will not give.”

Dauntless looks confused, “We wouldn’t do that. All the offer entails is meeting the Wards, and possibly some of the Protectorate heroes. Typically Miss Militia or Assault are there if there’s an arranged meeting. You could talk to the Director, if you wanted or-”

“No.” 

“Or,” he continues, ignoring her response, “you could get a tour of the base with one of us. Assault and Velocity like doing those.”

She takes a step away, “We will have nothing to do with your-”

He grabs her wrist, not hard but the threat to clamp down is clear, “Hey! It’s fine. We just want-”

She wrenches her arm away, and hisses, “Stay away from us, and touch us never again. This shall be your only warning.”

He raises both hands, stumbling a little as he steps back, “Sorry, sorry. I just wanted you to know-”

“Cease! You have rambled on and on, annoying us with your prattle!” She knows she sounds pretentious, but something about the royal we is just… inspiring to be that way. At least she isn’t using ‘thou’ or ‘thine’ like her brain keeps trying to trip her tongue into. Taylor is just… getting into character, is all.

“Here,” he tries to give her a business card. “Just call the number on this card, and-”

She flicks the card out of his hand with a finger, “We shall not.”

“Could you at least tell me what your powers are?”

She sneers at him before looking over to the troopers, who are standing around, “Is Gargle restrained now?”

One of them nods, “We have Stain secured.”

“Very well, we shall take our leave.” She nods her head, and starts to walk away, only to have Dauntless grab her _again_. She stares at him, ordering in no nonsense tones, “Unhand us.”

“It would really be a good idea for you to-”

She moves her arm, grabbing his wrist, and pushing, “Touch us again, and we shall make you regret it.” When he’s bending backwards a bit, she shoves him away from her, and spins to stride away. Calling behind her, she says, “Follow us, and we shall make you regret all that you have tried upon us. We are merciful, but if pressed, very dangerous.”

Taylor’s arms are stiff at her sides, hands clenched, and she all but forces herself to walk in a march instead of stomping the ground. Perhaps if that man never touched her, she’d be more willing, but his pushing! She has no clue how she keeps from rushing back to punch him in the face. Instead, she somehow manages to return to the drop off point, and send her father a text.

She will be wearing her large coat and hat, and they can finally go home.


	2. Decorum, Making A Friend, At The Market

Taylor hums softly as she walks into her home, carrying some library books in her backpack. Blinking in surprise, she says, “Oh, dad! I wasn’t expecting you home so early.”

“Yeah, I decided to come home, since there wasn’t much I could do right now. We’re doing all we can, and it is best I take a few less hours where I can.”

She nods, “Understandable.” Placing her bag on the table, she pulls out her books, “Maybe you could help me with some of this?”

He walks over from where he’s opening a tin of tomato soup, and looks at the books, “A Dutiful Daughter’s Guide to Decorum? Taylor, I think you’re fine, you don’t-”

“It is more for when I go out. The last few times I went, I’ve lost my temper, and it is only because I know better that I don’t hurt anyone too badly. Keeping my emotions in check will be very important.”

He puts an arm around her, hugging her softly, “Ah. Are the earplugs working?”

“I think I need better ones. I can still hear when people talk when I put them in. I don’t think they’re any good. Might be defective?”

He frowns, “Really? I got you the ones that we use for- Oh!” He laughs, glancing away from her, and rubbing the back of his head, “Ah, right. Those are the high end ones, which means you actually want _worse_ ones, sweetheart. I didn’t even think about it, but the good ones only actually block out excessively large decibels, but let you hear talking. Useful in the workplace, not at all good when you want to not hear talking.”

She blinks, “Oh… that makes sense. Maybe after you’re done making lunch, we can go get some?”

“Of course, don’t worry.” He squeezes her shoulder before returning to the stove, and putting the soup in a pot. Filling the can with milk, he asks, “Would you like some, too? I think we still have bread, and you can toast it. Or maybe we could make grilled cheese to make this more filling between the two of us.”

She beams at him, “Grilled cheese sounds amazing.”

He laughs, “And we should probably work on table manners, if we want people to see the difference between you and your alter ego.”

Part of her wants to protest, but she knows that is true. “Right. I can’t eat with my hands, so if I eat in costume, I’ll need to be able to sit and use silverware as I do.” She pulls butter and cheese from the fridge, and absently cuts part of the stick of butter off to put on a plate to soften in the microwave, “Did you know that I’m supposed to eat mostly one handed?”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“I have no clue. I’ll need to look it up. I just watched a few videos on how to eat with the manners of royalty. Mostly princesses, but I also did some with queens. They have the same manners, so that works out.” She pulls out the bread, setting it so each of them will have two sandwiches each. She needs more calories now due to doing patrols, and her father won’t turn it down if given.

Stirring the soup, her father smiles brightly, “Understandable. And how are you supposed to eat something you need to cut up?”

“Cut it up first, then eat it with one hand, and the other in your lap.”

“Perhaps you can look up how a prince does, too, and the both of us can have royalty table manner nights. No need for it to just be you. This way, we can also say, should you slip up, that we’re both doing it after hearing about that royal cape that’s sometimes around downtown.” He winks at her, and gives her the softened butter from the microwave, “I’m pretty sure a fair number of girls feel the same way.”

“I suppose, but I still kind of worry,” she tells him, buttering the bread.

“Understandable. We have more to hide in this, but more people might pick up the same if they see you use the table manners. Even if it means street food is not something you can have.”

She sighs, placing the cheese on the bread, and putting it on a skillet to cook. “I like hotdogs.”

“More reason to avoid them in costume. They can get kind of messy, when fully covered in condiments.”

She can’t disagree there. “Yeah, I know. I don’t want my outfit to possibly get messy.” It may be made of machine washable fabrics, but she only has the one. She frowns, “I should probably get more dresses, and be able to switch them out.”

“Not disagreeing. It might help sell the royalty thing, too.”

She nods, humming her agreement as she flips the grilled cheese. “You watch these, and I’ll set the table.” She can see how the soup is pretty much done, since her dad clearly has the flame almost off. 

“No problem.”

She gathers up plates and silverware, “I think I’ll wear the darker colors for when I go out in the day, and brighter at night. Visibility is super important in my case.”

“You might also want to wear bright colors in the day, too, then. Not saying some darker colors is a bad idea, but brighter draws more attention. But a royal purple for the day would also be a good idea.”

“I may need to learn to sew,” she laments, placing down the silverware. Walking over to him, she pulls bowls from the cupboard, and sets them in easy to fill reach, “I probably should anyway, even if I don’t _need_ to. If only so my miserable stitching on my current outfit for the pockets is improved. I need to be able to better hide how they’re there, and being able to do repairs will only help me long term.”

“We do have your mother’s old sewing machine. It has the repair kit and supplies just in the little drawer. I know it was her mother’s, so it is fairly old, but if you fix it up, she said it was the best one she’s ever had. If you get deeply into sewing, and think you’ll need a very fancy one, we can get it for you. But your mother said it had the ability to sew on zippers, buttons, and many other things. All the sewing feet are there.”

“I…. don’t know what that means.”

He laughs, ruffling her hair, “Research it, Taylor. If you’re going to learn to sew, you’ll need to know these things. It has an automatic bobbin winder, which is something your mother had always been pleased about.”

What the hell is a bobbin?

“I’ll research it.”

“Good, now grab one of the plates, and we can start eating.”

She laughs, and hurries to help him plate up the food.

\--

Taylor kind of wishes she had a power that made making costumes less tedious, but she’s happy for the one that keeps her from being hurt that she has. Even if she’d like to be able to fly. Shaking that off, she flips through various cheap patterns in the fabric store’s catalogues, and notes down the ones she wants. Right now, she’s just finding what she likes, and will search through for what is cheap enough once she gets to where the patterns are. 

She’s reaching for the next catalogue when a hand brushes against hers, and she glances up in surprise at the sight of an older girl who looks flustered. The girl’s dark skin makes it hard to tell, but it could be a blush on her cheeks, as the girl says, “Ah, sorry. I’d thought you weren’t going to use this one.”

“Oh….” She laughs softly, hand in front of her mouth, “I just finished with the one I’m on. I’m looking for dress patterns, and, well, these seem like the best ones to go through.”

The girl glances at Taylor’s jeans and hoodie, but her smile seems genuine, “They are. I use them a lot.”

A look at the girl’s own clothing makes her wish she could sew better. It is clear that the girl in front of her made her outfit herself, and it looks _amazing_. “If these are the patterns you use, I can see why. You look amazing.”

That gets a bright smile, “Thank you!” A hand is extended, “I’m Sabah.”

Shaking it, she introduces herself, “Taylor.”

Sabah sits next to her, “We can share if you want?”

“I won’t say no, but you likely know what you’re looking for, and I’ll take much longer, since I’m looking through everything, one page at a time.”

“How about you show me the styles you are going for, and I help you find those?”

Sitting up straighter, she hates how her voice wavers slightly, “Would you really do that for me?”

“Of course!” Sabah pats her hand, “Here, show me.” With that, the girl places the catalogue into both of their laps, and lets Taylor page through them.

Pointing out several of the dresses, she also chooses some in other styles she might wear outside of patrolling. If she comes back here more often, she will want Sabah to see what she’s working on. It will also mean that Sabah will be less likely to connect her to Regina. She doesn’t want a random person to be able to see through her, not at all.

As they page through dress patterns, they talk about various things in their lives. Somehow, Sabah gets her to admit that she’s homeschooled due to bullying. The girl says, “It’s horrible, to have someone push you so hard, you can only try to escape the situation. At least you’ve gotten out, and the girls punished for what they did.”

“I don’t know yet if they have been. My dad is dealing with the legal aspects of it, and I’m trying to stay out of it. He’ll tell me if I’m needed, but the incident that got me out isn’t exactly hidden.” She sighs, “I’m sure there are videos floating around the internet.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Several of my bullies pushed me down the steps. I thought I was going to die.” Something made her go limp, and she’d landed less badly than she should have, and on top of a few other students, besides. 

“That’s horrible!”

“And that’s why I’m not in the school anymore.”

“I’d be upset if you were!” Sabah cautiously puts a hand on her back, and Taylor leans against the older girl, relaxing a bit as she rubs her back. “The most I need to deal with are boys being too pushy for dates in college.”

“Still isn’t a good thing. For you, I mean. They likely look at you, and think you’ll be easy to push around. When you likely only want to work on your studies.”

That gets a bright smile, “Exactly. I want to graduate, maybe get my own shop, and then deal with dating.”

Taylor winces, “I hope you get your shop, even if it might be best away from Brockton Bay. As much as I love the city, since it’s my home, it is…” she trails off, wondering how to best put it.

“Infested with nazis?” Sabah suggests dryly.

“That, and sounding the death knell to it’s economics. My dad talks a lot about how it used to be a thriving city, but now it is dying. Some of it is fine, but the places you’d want to have a business would get anyone harassed, short of the Boardwalk. And the Boardwalk is… not a cheap place for a startup business.” She pauses, “Unless you’re planning on selling higher end products?”

“The plan is dresses and suits, tailored to the person’s frame.”

She blinks, “Oh, that would work very well.”

Sabah smiles, “The hard part will be the starting capital, but I’ll see how I can do it. If it comes to it, I might move somewhere else, but I live here, too. It’s my home.”

Taylor grins, “I can’t disagree.”

Sabah laughs, “How about we get back to the dresses?”

“I’d like that.”

\--

Taylor hums softly as she puts the finishing touches on the fake fur shawl. The fake fur is absolute garbage to sew, but the tutorials are fairly comprehensive, so she manages it with only a little fucking up. Which is good, since it is straight up her most expensive fabric. 

Pulling it on, she looks in the mirror, and straightens it out. Part of her wants to show off her latest project to friends, but she quashes that ruthlessly. She doesn’t actually have friends. She has an acquaintance, and they just talk when they’re in the fabric shop sometimes. 

Even if she is having a much easier time sewing due to the older girl explaining how to do some techniques. 

Stretching a bit, she peeks out the window, and debates if she should go out patrolling or not. 

… Fuck it, yeah. She doesn’t have anything else she has to do.

So that’s how she finds herself walking through the market, her small amount of cash in her purse, and her new shawl on her shoulders. It keeps her warmer, and she’s just glad it isn’t all that cold out for the time of year. Sure, this is less patrol and more showing she exists, but whatever. 

She even has her hair up in an intricate hairstyle, one kind of difficult to do on her own, but worth it. It implies she likely had help getting into her costuming, even if she didn’t. Just like the buttons in the back, and her hidden zipper up front. The buttons are just always connected, since she’s not going to take them off her. 

Wandering the market, she stops in front of some places, searching to see if there is anything she wants. Unfortunately, she’s interrupted as she’s negotiating with a woman about something she’s planning on turning into earrings by a tap on her shoulder. Glancing behind her, she says, voice flat, “Allow us to finish our business with this fine woman, and we shall talk.” 

“Of course,” Assault says, sounding cheerful.

She manages to bicker the woman down to a more reasonable price, and pays her the cost. She kind of wants the pearl necklace the woman is selling, but the price is exorbitant, and likely justifiably so. She can see the individual knots between each pearl, so they don’t rub and ruin each other, and also so they don’t scatter all over the ground, should the string break. She stares at it for a fraction longer, then takes her leave of the woman.

Turning to the Protectorate hero, she moves so they’re not in the way of people who will also want to shop, and says, “Yes?”

“Just wanted to know how you were doing. You’re looking a little out of place, around all these adults, and on a school day, too.”

“Not all of us have a pleasant time within the school building.”

He nods, “Right, right. How about we have this conversation in a less crowded place, your majesty?”

She nods, walking towards one of the marketplace exits, “Perhaps that would be a better idea. Where do you suggest for us to join you?”

Keeping easy pace with her, he says, “How does a park sound? There’s one not too far from here, and we can get something to eat.”

“We do not eat without a table and silverware, but we can sit in the park if you so wish.”

He waves a hand, “Nah, I am hungry. A coffee shop also works. I’ll order us both something to eat, and get us some coffee.”

“We prefer tea.”

He smiles at her, “Earl Grey, I’m guessing?”

“Our preference is for English Breakfast.” She likes jasmine more, but she knows what most people will think of when seeing her. Going with what she does is fine, not like it tastes bad. At least it is easy enough to get in a tea bag at a coffee place.

“Sounds good. I’ll need to try it sometime. Excuse me as I tell everyone what is happening.” He waits for her nod, and he taps his ear, and presumably tells his headquarters that he’s made contact with her and they’re going to be getting things to eat. During that time, they get to the coffee shop, and Assault stops talking to who he was just in time to jog a bit in front of her and pull open the door, bowing low with a flourish as he says, “After you, your majesty.”

She can’t help it, she laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sabah is just there since she’s a named character that is both nice and knows how to sew. Neither of them really have a reason to disclose they have powers. They may when I write more later, but for now it isn’t happening.


	3. Conversation With Heroes

The tea is served in a typical paper coffee cup with a lid, and Assault puts a poppy seed lemon cake in front of her. He smiles at her with a shrug, sitting across from her with his coffee and a coffeecake, “I can’t eat them myself, since drug testing is random, but you don’t need to deal with it, so you get to enjoy it in my stead.”

“Drug testing?”

“Once you hit Protectorate, you need a certain standard. Part of that is not being addicted to drugs, since it is incredibly unprofessional.” 

She tilts her head, leaving her left hand firmly in her lap as she takes a small part of the cake onto her fork, “What of those who have chronic pain from former injuries?” She takes a bite of the cake. It’s alright. She’s not a large fan of lemon, and the poppyseeds don’t actually improve the flavor at all. If it wasn’t from a package, she might like it more, but it just… tastes like a box mix.

“The Brockton Bay Protectorate is lucky, since we can ask Panacea to come heal us. But even then, being a hero affords certain perks the average independent has unavailable to them.” He pauses, clearly waiting for her to ask, but she doesn’t take the bait, just eating more of the cake. Looking a little disappointed, he says, “Even if Panacea isn’t available, if the injury is bad enough, we can call in a hero from another place.”

She hums, “We see. And should it not be bad enough?”

“Then recovery is done the old fashioned way. However, sometimes tinkers take it into their own hands.”

She hums, sipping her tea, and only barely keeping the expression off her face. They used too hot of water for the tea, and ruined it. She takes off the top, removes the teabag, and pours in some sugar. At least the sweetness will mask how bad it is. It’s entirely possible that the coffee is good, since everyone else around here with the coffee is clearly enjoying it, but so far, she isn’t all that impressed with the place. Which isn’t really anyone’s fault that she’s being picky. “We are not a tinker.”

“Good to know! I was talking to Battery, and she said your latest costumes have been homemade. So it’s good to know you’re just handy, rather than it being a power.”

She looks at him, feeling put on the spot, “A… friend of ours gave us advice upon sewing faster.”

He looks interested, “Oh? Want to tell me about it?”

“Do you wish to take up sewing?” she asks, genuinely bewildered. She can’t see why he’d want to do that.

“Or embroidery,” he says cheerfully. “Maybe we could do that together?”

She frowns, staring at her half eaten cake, “Perhaps. We have not thought about embroidery, but it is… traditional. We should possibly take it up.” Even if she kind of despairs for her lack of free time. She has classwork and more to do. She’s learning to cook, sew, and all sorts of things. She is even trying to learn how to do proper fighting in a way that doesn't out her. Since all of her research shows, even in the ones where there is no contact in the classes, they are expected to advance in ranking by fighting. 

She’ll be found out instantly, if during tournaments her opponents can’t muster the ability to throw a punch. 

“Looking down, your majesty? What has such an expression on your face?”

She squishes a few bits of cake with her fork, “Would we be taught to fight, should we join?”

“Sure! We have hands on teachers who will help you out, and sparring is always available. Granted, it happens way less now that Shadow Stalker has been transferred out, but that doesn’t mean the others don’t do it sometimes.”

“Did Shadow Stalker regularly ask for spars?”

Assault shrugs, “I’m told she did with the other Wards, but the amount that were accepted is unknown. Well, by me, anyway.” He beams at her, “Why? Do you want to spar someone? I could bring one of the Wards to talk to you. How about Aegis? He could-”

“Royalty does not spar.”

He nods at her, “Understandable. Might be a bit… undignified. But you want to learn to fight?”

“More... wish to learn proper takedowns, perhaps things that work best with leverage, rather than strength.” So she can deal with brutes. 

At least, that might work? She’s not sure. Now she wants to go find Glory Girl and see how she reacts to Taylor attacking her. With foreknowledge of Taylor wanting to, of course. Since an Alexandria package would be best to test her power on, and a friendly one is all the better.

“Would you like to try a few on me? I am immensely difficult to damage, and if you do hurt me, we could-”

“It is best that we do not, we think. We still have no intention of joining the Wards, and are happy to remain as we are.”

“Really, your majesty? Not even just to walk along the PRT, and maybe go meet some of the Wards?”

“We were offered this before, and we did not… find the invitation that inviting then. While it feels more genuine, and less like obligation, now; we still must refuse.”

Assault sounds genuinely disappointed, “If you think it’s not a good idea, I can’t force you.” He sighs, and taps his ear, making talk motions with his other hand. Dropping both arms, he tells her in a voice that makes it clear he is rolling his eyes, “And I was informed I’m to give you a way to contact us if you want to join.” He tugs out a business card, and flips it over, scribbling a different number on the back, “This is my personal hero number, so if you want, you can call that, and I’ll have an excuse to pick up any parahuman you might capture on your patrols.”

She takes it from him, “We thank you.”

“You’re welcome, your majesty.” He grins at her, “But you can also call the number on the front if you wanna join a Ward’s patrol. It would likely be on the boardwalk, since that’s safest, but why not?”

She touches the number with her gloved fingers, tapping it lightly, “We will… keep it in mind.” Looking at him, Taylor asks, “And should we wish to patrol with you?”

His grin widens, “Call the official number, and _then_ mine.”

Placing his business card in her little card clasp, she takes out one of her own business cards, and pushes it to him, “And here is our number. It will not always be on, but we do at least check messages, be they on the voice mail or through text, nightly.” Well, she will _now_. She only just got these cards the day before, since her dad ordered them for her online. They’re just a number, and her cape name in a pretty font.

He stands up from the table, “Thank you, your majesty.” He bows lowly, “I will endeavor to keep your trust in these matters.”

She giggles softly, extending her hand, “I know you will keep that trust, Sir Assault.” She’s actually certain that he’ll be grilled on the information, but it isn’t like she’s explained too much about herself. Whatever he knows about her, then the whole of the Protectorate does.

She giggles more, as he kisses the back of her hand before standing up. “I shall take my leave, your majesty. I hope the day sees you well.”

“We wish your day well, too, Sir Assault.”

She waves royally at him as he leaves, and returns to picking at her lemon poppyseed and sipping at her tea. She keeps her expression neutral and manages to make it through about half of her tea, and three quarters of the cake. She can probably finish it, if she pushes herself. The tea is just fairly awful, even if the cake isn’t bad by any means. Giving up, she throws it all away, and heads out of the shop without a backwards glance. 

Maybe she can go buy things again. She may as well try.

\--

Taylor sings along softly to the music she has playing from speakers in discrete pockets in her dress, and makes her way along on patrol. When she hears a scream, she rushes towards the sound, and gets there _just_ as there’s a solid and violent thump. Walking into the mouth of the alley without fear, she blinks up at a surprisingly pretty girl, who almost seems to gleam in the sky. 

She tilts her head, and waves with her fingers when the girl notices her. The girl lands from where she’s flying, and walks over to where a white man with a bold Empire Eighty-Eight tattoo on his bald head is lying on the ground, “You’re never going to do this again, you got me?”

The man sputters out agreements, and Taylor leaves them to it when she spots a hispanic woman curled up against a wall, bleeding a bit, and her skirt ripped. Hurrying over to her, Taylor squats down, her dress making it look more like she’s kneeling, and she takes the woman’s hand, “Are you okay, ma’am?”

The woman shakes, “I…” She flinches at something behind Taylor, and a glance over her shoulder reveals that stunning girl. Taylor just kind of… stares at her, unable to say anything.

The beautiful girl says something, but Taylor is just too dazzled to understand. A moment later, the feeling lessens greatly, but all that does is let Taylor say, “You’re amazing.”

The girl, who is now very clearly Glory Girl, looks at her awkwardly, “Ah… right?” The girl pokes her, very lightly, “You okay?”

She blinks, shaking her head, “Yea-” She coughs, straightening her back, forcing her voice back to her proper tones, “Yes, we are fine.” She turns to the woman, “We apologize, are you well? Do you need help?”

The woman shakes a little, then says, “My… he was going to… He just…”

Glory Girl reaches over Taylor’s shoulder to pat the woman softly, “You’re safe now. I’ve contacted the police. He didn’t get further than ripping your skirt, did he?”

That gets a shake of the head, “No. He did not. But he did… He hit me, many times. See?” She points to where her lip is busted, and bruising is already rising up. “I do not know… the policía, they will not help. Not when it is a…” She gestures, helplessly at the nazi, who is now very firmly zipcuffed in a hogtie, face down on the ground, legs and arms connected and looking fairly painful.

It is very clear to Taylor that Glory Girl does _not_ like potential rapists, and especially not racist ones. Good.

“We will make sure they listen to you,” she informs the woman, taking her hand with care. “Don’t worry.”

Glory Girl nods, “Right, me and, uh…”

“Regina.”

“Regina and I will be here, letting the cops know what happened.”

That gets the woman to calm down, and they get her to stand up. When the poor woman attempts to cover up, distressed at the damage to her skirt, Taylor pulls out her embroidery needles, and a spool of thread. The woman fidgets a bit, “What is… what is that for?”

“We can do a fast patching of your skirt. It will hold for a few hours, but you will want to fix it properly later or just replace.”

“Do I… need to remove my skirt or…”

“We are able to repair it as you wear it, but again, it will need to be fixed properly or replaced.”

“Ah, okay, go ahead. Just… uh, let me take a picture of this first?”

“Of course,” she nods, moving out of the way as the woman pulls out her phone, documenting the damage. 

Glory Girl looks at her, “You just… carry sewing supplies? Are they part of your power?”

“We carry them, for we can never know when we might need to patch up our costume.” Mainly due to accidently snagging the ends of it on stuff. She’d going to be washing the one she’s wearing now because this alley has blood in it, and she knows it is likely staining her hems.

“Oh, cool, cool. So, uh, how about that music? That part of your power?”

She blushes, reaching into her pockets,and turning the volume on the mp3 player down to a bare whisper, “No. It just… helps us be more effective.”

“Wanna tell me your power? I’ll tell you mine!”

She looks away, “No, it would be best if we keep our powers secret. Perhaps they will be more known later, but for now not knowing is a better choice for us.”

Glory Girl pouts, “Awww… I guess that makes sense, even if I wish I could know.”

“As long as you do not attempt to hurt us, our power will never turn against you,” she says, completely truthfully.

“Fine, be cryptic,” Glory girl huffs dramatically, but laughs and grins at her. “So, Regina, would you-”

“Ah,” the woman interrupts cautiously, “I have it done. Would you still be willing to…”

“Of course,” Taylor says, walking over. “We said we would, and so we shall. Royalty does their best to keep their word.” Instantly, she squats down to be eye level with the rip, and works on sewing it together quickly. “We apologize for the lack of red thread. We only carry black or embroidery floss, and we are…. On a budget.”

The woman asps softly, “When you wear such wonderful dresses? You have so many! I’ve seen the pictures in PHO!”

“We make our dresses and other clothing. But for many things, it is still cheaper to just buy rather than make. We are just a teenager, and use allowance for extras,” she reluctantly admits. “Please stay still, we do not wish to accidentally stab you.”

Glory Girl floats over her shoulder, watching her work. Once she finishes, the older girl whistles softly, “Damn, that looks amazing.”

Standing straight, she shakes her head, “It is rushed, and we would do better with proper tools and it was not on a person. We could do-”

The woman shuffles, interrupting, “Could you… sign your work? Like you said, I’d need to throw it away. But if you sign it, I have more reason to keep it.”

She blinks, “Ah, as you wish?” She hastily sews as fancy of a capital ‘R’ as she can on the skirt. “There you are. We hope we could help.”

The woman beams, “You did! Thank you so much!”

“You are most welcome.” Glancing at the hogtied nazi, she frowns, and walks over. “Glory Girl, we need to redo his ties. Much longer, and he will lose the ability to use his hands and possibly feet.”

“He’s a nazi, who cares if-”

She looks at the other girl, “Glory Girl, we are heroes. Heroes do not leave someone to suffer, no matter how he deserves it. We shall hold him down, and you will remove the zipcuffs. Do not worry about him escaping, he will be unable to do so with our hold upon him.”

“Man, it is confusing if you mean we’re both holding him or if-”

“Glory Girl! _Please_!”

“Fine, fine.” The blonde grumbles a bit, but comes to help her remove the zipcuffs. 

Holding the man firmly, Taylor watches Glory Girl snap the cuffs by pinching them so hard they snap open. It is only luck that keeps them from hitting her. Glaring, she says, “Glory Girl! Please pay attention to what you are doing! You could have hurt him more with your lack of care.” She forces her irritation down, just moving and adjusting the man as she says as calmly as possible, “Should you wish, we have zipcuffs in our purse. Would you prefer those?”

“Nah, I got my own.” Putting action to that, she pulls out her own zipcuffs, and puts them on the nazi, this time not as tight, but still enough that he can’t escape. “Should I do his ankles?”

“No, put them around his knees to best shackle him. He will be hobbled and unable to run.”

They’re just finishing that when a police car _finally_ shows up. The victim comes over, and Taylor explains to the cop what all she’s done. After that, she is allowed to leave.


	4. The Most Beautiful Girl In The World

Glory Girl follows her shortly after the talk with the cops, the girl saying, “So, uh, sewing?”

Taylor closes her eyes, takes a breath, and says softly, “Yes, we sew.” She reaches into her pockets, and turns up the volume to her music. She has a suspicion that the girl is just going to be full of questions, and she doesn't want to have someone be unaware of her existence. 

“I wouldn't expect that, since you look so… regal.”

She keeps her poise, back straight, “We do our best.”

There is silence between them as they head along the street, the only sound the echoing of her music around them. The soft orchestral giving a heavier mood than there might have been otherwise, but there is little she can do about that. 

When the song finishes, and the next one starts, Glory Girl says, “Hey, do you want to patrol together?” 

She reaches into her purse, taking out the pocket watch to check the time, “It is nearing the time we should be heading home.”

“I could drop you off, and-”

“No.”

“Why not?”

She closes her eyes, and sighs, “We do not wish to reveal ourselves to you. We will be getting picked up, and in doing so, you would be able to see things we wish secret.”

There’s a long silence, and finally Glory Girl says, “I keep forgetting how… everyone has a secret identity.”

“We also do not have a mover rating,” Taylor says dryly.

That gets a blush, Taylor sees it as they pass under a street light, “That, too. Still, I could take you to the drop off point.” 

She sighs, getting the impression refusing will not help. She bites her lower lip, and glances at the girl. Glory Girl _is_ a hero, and is actually very nice. She’s not really sure why she’s refusing, actually. “If… you want, yes. Just let-” She squeaks when the other girl scoops her up, bridal style, and buries her face in the crook of the other girl’s neck. “You can’t just _do_ this!” she can’t help but giggle out, feeling a little happier about accepting the offer. 

It feels warm and safe in the other girl’s arms, and she pulls away to look at her face as Glory Girl says, “Oh, but I _did_!” They both giggle as the girl spins them both in a circle, Taylor clinging tightly, legs kicking in excitement. 

Once they calm down, Taylor is smiling just as much as Glory Girl, “Let me contact my father.”

“Oh, sure!”

She coughs, correcting herself, a little flustered, “Ah, I mean, let _us_ contact _our_ father.”

That just gets a bigger grin, but she pretends not to see as she sends her father a text. She also pretends not to see Glory Girl read it as they wait for a response. It is _impossible_ to pretend when the girl tells her, once her father responds, “Awesome! He said it will be about fifteen minutes. What do you say to flying around for ten and I drop you off?”

“O-okay.” She stares at the girl, feeling dazzled and lightheaded. “Whatever you want.”

With that, Glory Girl jets across the sky, only stopping over the bay. The girl grins at her, radiant and beautiful, “You aren't very talkative now, are you, huh?”

“What is there to say, Glory Girl?” her voice sounds so very far away from her, and [the song in her dress changes](https://youtu.be/MDgLLvJRfNo). She barely notices what it is.

“Call me Vicky.”

“Vicky,” she breathes, wrapping her arms around the back of the other girl’s neck. “I’m Taylor.”

“Wow! A bit early for that, huh? What’s next, you gonna take off your mask?”

“Do you want me to?” 

She pulls away to take it off, only to blink in surprise when Vicky stops her, saying, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Nope, nope, nope. Don’t do that.”

She closes her eyes, resting against Vicky, “Okay.” She hums softly along with the music, murmuring, “You make me feel so very safe.”

That gets laughter, and Vicky starts to fly again, this time to the beat of the song, “Man, I should take you out here with me more often, then.”

“I’d love that.” She focuses on the beat of Vicky’s heart, and how it is just so warming and calming.

“Amy hates me doing this, and so does Dean. But you? You’re the only non-flier cape I’ve met excited about this.” Vicky slowly twirls them with the song, “This song feels familiar, what is it?”

She hums, catching onto the tune, and sings the next part softly, “Like a river flows, surely into the sea.”

“Oh I know this!”

“Darling, so it goes,” she sings, looking Vicky in the eyes.

“What is it called?” Vicky is so cute as she worries her lower lip.

“Some things are meant to be,” she moves a little closer. 

“I think…”

“Take… my… hand. Take my whole life, too.”

“Yeah!”

“For I can’t help falling in love with you,” she sings. “For I can’t help,” Vicky joins in on the last part, “falling in love with you.”

She giggles, and kisses Vicky on the lips.

Vicky stares at her as she keeps giggling, and then says, “... _Shit_.”

She feels just a tiny bit more clear headed, and giggles some more, “Huh?”

Vicky changes position a bit, and suddenly she’s sitting on the girl’s lap as they remain in the air. Laughing happily, she hugs Vicky tighter, rubbing her face against her. Vicky pats her back, “Hey, Regina?”

“I’m _Taylor_ ,” she corrects.

“Right.... Taylor, I need your cell, that okay?”

“Uh-huh!” She pulls it out of her purse, happily giving it to the other girl. “You have such pretty hair, Vicky.” She drags her fingers through it, “So pretty.”

“Yup, I know.” Vicky does something with her phone, there’s beeping and Vicky curses softly. “Hey, is there a reason why you don’t have it set to autocomplete words?”

Taylor blinks, tilting her head, “It can do that?”

“Want me to make it so it does?”

“Okay? I don’t care. I only use it to tell dad when to pick me up.” She touches Vicky’s face, “The Protectorate keeps saying I should join the Wards, but I don’t want to.”

Vicky keeps using her phone, clearly distracted as she asks, “Why don’t you?”

“What if the Wards are mean to me? I got hurt a lot in school, and I won’t ever go back. Never.”

“You need to go to school, it’s the law.”

“I’m doing school things, though?” She blinks, “At least at home I don’t get pushed down the steps or hit and insulted or told I’m the reason my mom died.” Her neck rolls because suddenly she’s _super_ relaxed. It just feels so nice, and Vicky is _so_ pretty. She keeps talking, not really sure what else to do as music surrounds them and Vicky texts on Taylor’s phone, “My best friend stopped being my best friend in high school. Our parents were best friends, so we knew each other since we were babies. She was my sister, and I loved her. I don’t love her now. She’s so mean.”

“What do you mean?” Vicky asks, sounding absent minded and more focused on the phone. They’re moving again, Vicky still sitting with Taylor in her warm and comfy lap.

“She and her new best friend Sophia destroyed my mom’s flute. They were so mean to me. They broke into my locker somehow and stole it. I think they stole a lot of things that went missing in my locker. Which is really weird, since I’d replaced the lock a lot through Freshman year.” She nuzzles Vicky, who is weirdly tense, but the warm feeling drops a little as she talks. “Homework gone, my money, and lots of other things. Then Madison got in it. It just kept getting worse and worse. Emma told me that I was so stupid for wanting her to be my friend.

“Even when we were little babies! Not that she said-said that, but it was really obvious in little things she said. In the tone? She told me how my mom must have gotten in the car crash to get away from me, and the text to her was the last straw, so she turned right into oncoming traffic.” Oh, that amazing feeling is back, and it almost seems twice as intense. She giggles as she basks in the feeling, “She mocked me for crying for a week because my mom died. I was twelve, and it was like the light had gone from my world. Everything just was grey and broken, and nothing would be better. But then it started getting better, and I was finally getting happy again, only for Emma and her horrible friend showing up. You wouldn’t know her, Sophia Hess. We went to WInslow, but I’m not there anymore. I just-”

She giggles excitedly as Vicky puts the phone back in her purse, snaps it all closed, and tosses her in the air all in a smooth motion. Catching her with loving care, Vicky says, “Okay, I know where you disguise for over your outfit is now. I’m going to put it on you, and then I will need you to walk a block away to go wait for your dad.”

She blinks, “Why?”

Vicky smiles carefully at her, and Taylor can feel the good feeling slowly start to ebb, “We don't want anyone to hurt you or your dad, right?”

She nods, “Yeah….”

“So,” Vicky says slowly, “this will keep him and you very safe.”

“But I-”

Vicky shakes her head, “Ah-ah. No arguing, okay? Your dad promised me you’ll be super safe as you walk. Now, how about you turn off that music in your dress, huh? We don’t need more love songs.”

She laughs happily, turning it off, and starts to sing, “You'd think that people would have had enough of silly love songs!”

Vicky looks pained, “No singing, please.”

“But I look around me, and I see it isn’t-” 

She giggles excitedly as Vicky presses her forehead to Taylor’s mouth, saying, “No, stop that. We don’t want anyone to figure out where you are, remember?”

She pulls away, “But why? Aren’t you here to keep me safe?”

Vicky closes her eyes, holding Taylor a little closer, “I’m so sorry, Regina. I’m _so_ sorry. When this wears off, _if_ it wears off, you’re gonna hate me.”

“I couldn’t hate you, Vicky!”

“I hate me,” Vicky says, looking away from her.

Taking Vicky’s head in her hands, she carefully moves it so they can look eye to eye, and kisses the other girl so very tenderly on the mouth, “You make me so happy, Vicky. I don’t think I’ve been as happy as I am now since my mother died.”

If anything, Glory Girl looks even more hurt at that. She can see her friend swallow hard, “H-here it is. You must get changed,” Vicky set her on her feet, “and go that way,” she points to one side of the alley, “about a block, maybe two. Your father will be there.”

“Don’t you want to meet him?”

“I… I can’t, Regina.”

She takes Vicky’s hands in hers, kissing her perfect fingers, “He would love you, Vicky. Just as much as I do. He’d love you like his own daughter, and-” 

She sighs softly in unhappiness as Vicky pulls away, into the sky, “I can’t, Regina. Change and be safe.”

Before she can reply, Vicky takes off, a perfect dot that goes invisible so very quickly. She stares off blankly for a little bit, and then does as bid, changing to her incognito clothing. She isn’t exactly sure how long she walks in the direction Vicky told her to go, but soon enough, she is in the car with her father. Sitting in the passenger side, she giggles as he carefully buckles her seat for her, and presses a kiss to her forehead. 

He murmurs softly, “Stop trying to take the hat off, little owl, we’ll be home before long.”

He sounds so sad, which seems so out of place when all she can feel is light and happy, excited to talk about her best friend Vicky. Who is so beautiful and wonderful, and surely, they are in love.

\--

Taylor stares blankly at the wall, a blanket over her shoulders, and a mug of warm jasmine tea in her hands. Her legs are tucked under her, and her father sitting beside her on the couch. She’s absently sipping through half of her mug before she finally says, “Daddy?”

“Yes, pumpkin?”

“Will I ever be safe again?”

She can hear how his throat clogs in his voice, “I don’t know, honey. I just don’t know.”

She curls into his hug, moving the blanket so it covers both of them, their mugs now set on the floor, and she cries into his chest, feeling broken and hurt, unable to know what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter is just a bit short this week, but I think that's the best stopping point.


	5. Interlude: But What Is Going On In The Background?

Coil sits at his desk at his base, absently checking on the reports his spies have for him, and he has to pause when he finds a new cape. Not much, if anything, is known about her. Dauntless went with a troop to pick up Stain as her first capture, though. Which, as Coil realizes, is probably a bad idea.

The man aggravated her unduly, and this is supposedly because the man did three shifts in a row, while planning to do one more. That made him come on too aggressively, and unable to properly understand how she wanted to be treated politely and not touched. The man is likely going through various PR seminars Dauntless already knows incredibly well, and Emily likely chewing and spitting the man out over this. 

Coil can’t help as a small smile come to his face about this, since the worse the PRT is with independents, the better it is for him. He reaches for his communicator and turns it on, he opens his mouth, no sound comes out. He blinks, turning off the communicator, and says, “Commander, I want you to go on a mission to kill a new parahuman.”

Again, he tries the communicator, and again he can’t say what he means. He shuts it off again, and smiles under his mask.

Well, isn’t that interesting.

He takes out a piece of paper, attempting to write the order. His pen doesn't move from where it hovers over the page. He then thinks heavily on throwing the page away afterwards, not actually giving it to anyone. He doesn’t manage to write anything, and he strongly suspects it is because he knows himself much too well.

If he has the order, all written out, he will be unable to keep himself from attempting to give it to someone. 

Standing up, he debates having someone come help him with this, but right now he’s in the timeline he’s likely going to keep. But he also wants his other timeline to be left how it is since he’s actually in a meeting with the PRT, who are talking about how the Wards are using their powers and the interactions with the new Ward that transferred in when Shadow Stalker was arrested and put on trial for attempted murder. 

It’s truly unfortunate that he can’t recruit her, but he will survive.

He’ll experiment and go through what all he can and can’t do to this - a glance through the paperwork tells the name - Regina.

\--

Emily hates these sorts of sessions, but a glance through the new cape’s minimal write up report doesn’t tell her much. Not when she knows Assault gives better verbal reports. They have the recordings stored… someplace safe, but she hates bothering with that. Especially since the man is right in front of her. 

She taps the single sheet of paper in front of her, “Would you please explain to me why exactly there is so little information on this thing?”

Assault glances around, clearly searching for someone else, only to go back to her, perplexed, “Wouldn’t you usually have Miss Militia and Armsmaster here, ma’am?”

Sighing, she says, “I’ve spoken to them. Now, you were the one who interacted with her the most, and with the best diplomacy. How would you describe her?”

“Sad, and scared. Trying to hide it.” He tilts his head, looking thoughtful, “Hurt and bullied. She didn’t want to be in school, so she went out and just spent time not being herself. She puts on the princess, or really queen, act to feel better. There is no bravado, since she believes her power is going to keep her safe.” He looks at her, adding as an aside, “And seeing what we figured out just trying to classify her, I can’t be surprised at that.”

“What testing?”

“As a joke, I’d tried to tell Velocity to suggest she should be rated nine in how dangerous she is, since sometimes Armsmaster does actually do it until he figures out that I was the one to instigate. I couldn’t get it out.”

“And then?” she asks, irritated he seems to be drawing this out.

“I just told them I couldn’t suggest a high level for how dangerous she is. At all. I watched as the others tried it as well, until finally Triumph yelled how Regina is a level three stranger. It’s clear that something about her power does it, but we couldn’t even write a higher number on the board Armsmaster loves to use.”

Lines up generally with what Miss Militia has informed her. “Why aren’t there descriptions from you of her costume in the description?”

“I… don’t know, ma’am? I wrote them all down, and handed them off?” He just sounds confused rather than mischievous, so she can tell fairly well he’s not lying. Typically, if he lies, he’s good at covering it up, but he isn’t the kind of man to hide how funny he thinks a joke is. This is neither a lying situation nor a prank, which means that something is off. 

She touches the button to contact her secretary, and can’t even open her mouth to order the notes from Assault to her. She stares at the button, and turns it off. “That’s annoying.”

“What was it you were going to get? Maybe I could go get it?”

She tries to tell him, but after a second, she shakes her head with a sigh. “Nevermind.” She scowls, “It is still very annoying, and I can’t tell you to do this.” She has no clue what Regina looks like, and it seems like she can’t order someone to give her a description. “Can you tell others what she looks like?”

“I can, ma’am. Would you like me to describe her to you?”

She blinks, unable to say yes or even nod her head. Her lips purse, and she closes her eyes. “I am… incredibly frustrated at the moment, Assault.”

“Ah, well, I’l explain what you’d like to…” He trails off, and then groans, “As soon as I figured out what you’re attempting, me telling you and then you wanting to add it to the report, I stopped being able to. That’s the first time it happened mid sentence, but it is the reason we didn’t add more to it, ma’am.”

She rubs her temples, not caring that the man sees the weakness, she can tell he’s just as, if not more frustrated than her. “Were you able to describe her to Miss Militia and Armsmaster?”

“Yes’m.”

“Which explains why they said it would be best if you debrief me. Could you give me your report on the description?”

“...” He holds perfectly still, unable to say anything for a long moment, before saying, visibly frustrated, “No, Director Piggot. Not verbally, and not the paperwork.”

She dismisses him, and just stares blankly at the short assessment, unable to see anything other than the Stranger and Master ratings of three. Eventually, she finds herself giving up, ever so slightly. Not because of anything the cape is doing, but more because bashing her head against a brick wall is impractical and she has work to do.

Still, she wants to know what the girl looks like, if only to know how to avoid her in public. She absently types an order in her computer to have a picture taken of Regina and given to her for her to see it. She just finishes sending it when she realizes what she’s done.

Groaning, she wonders if she can add this to the assessment or not.

She doesn’t have much hope.

\--

Vicky curls up in her bed, wondering if she dares to try to leave it. She stares at her phone sitting next to her, and isn’t sure if she wants to use it to text Dean, watch videos to forget her life, or push it off the bed. She’s leaning heavily on pushing it off, since it is mind-bogglingly clear that she doesn’t _deserve_ to forget what she’s done to Regina.

She’s slowly poking it closer and closer to the edge when Amy opens the door to her room, saying, “You’ve been in bed since last night, and it is now time you usually patrol. You know I’ll fix you if you’re sick!” 

Amy strides over to her, grabbing her hand with a scowl, only to blink in confusion. “I’m not sick,” she tells Amy, miserably. “I just… I fucked up, Amy.”

Her sister sits on her bed, pushing her lightly and she moves with it or else Amy couldn’t push her at all, “You aren’t sick, but you are dehydrated. And I doubt that you fucked up that much. If you had, I’d have gotten a frantic call and been out of bed. Or, if the worst happened, you tell mom. Besides, if that _had_ happened, I saw you walk in through the doorway, and how you just went straight to bed. Your costume was pristine.” Amy pokes Vicky, nose wrinkling, “You’re still _wearing_ it, too. The hell, Vicky?”

She pulls her blanket over her head, “I fucked up!”

Amy rubs her back, soft and soothing, “Want to tell me what happened, instead of just blaming yourself?”

She shakes her head, but it’s likely her sister doesn’t see it. Her head is hidden under the blanket, and all. Pulling it to expose her face, she says, “I think I need to talk to the PRT, ‘cause I fucked up real bad.”

Amy stares down at her, eyes wide, “That seems… drastic. What _happened_?”

She can feel fresh tears gather in her eyes, which is unexpected since she thought she’d cried herself out already. She blinks to get rid of them, but they come no matter what, “My aura.”

“What about it?”

She returns to hiding under her blanket, only for Amy to pull it off her when her answer is garbled into the mattress. Rolling so she’s laying on her back now, she stares up at her sister, “My aura hurt another hero.”

Amy touches her head, brushing her hair away, “Talk to me. What hero? How can we fix this?”

“We _can’t_ fix it, Amy. There’s no way to fix it. I…” the words stick in her throat, clawing and gagging her with her guilt and fear. “It’s so horrible, Ames!”

“Just tell me.”

She forces herself to sit up, but she’s unable to stop herself from tucking her knees under her chin, “I think I mastered that new hero, you know the one with the dresses called Regina, into loving me. Or maybe thinking I’m super attractive. Or… or…. I don’t know! She kissed me, and sang love songs at me.”

Her sister stares at her blankly, and then looks weirdly thoughtful. “I… I think I should go find and talk to this Regina.”

She shakes her head, “Don’t go to yell at her! This is all my fault, and-”

“I have no intention of yelling at her or hurting her, or whatever nonsense you’re thinking, Vicky.” Amy rolls her eyes, “I genuinely _only_ want to talk to her. I want to know how she felt under your aura. Maybe, if we’re lucky, we can figure out something to help her with it.”

“I’ve been… I’ve been thinking about that.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s why I think I should go to the PRT.” Amy nods, proving she’s listening and encouraging her to keep going when she pauses nervously. “You see, they… they have Armsmaster. Maybe… maybe I could get something tinkertech to put on that will get rid of my aura.”

Amy blinks at her, then frowns, “Vicky, this is why I’ve been telling you to control your aura more.”

She nods, fresh tears coming down her face, “I know. I can’t do it easily, though. So maybe this will help.”

Amy sighs, “Oh, Vicky. Let’s get you changed, and see what we can do.”

It seems better than lying in her bed and crying. She’s not sure what she’s actually going to do, though. This is probably a New Wave meeting thing, but she’s not sure how to deal with this. 

With luck, it will turn out okay.

\--

Coil stares in horror as he watches the sobbing girl walk towards him. The girl, Regina or Taylor, almost wails, so broken and hurt while wearing a baggy hoodie and jeans, “Why would you kill him? Why would you do this? What did we do to you?” 

Instead of responding, he tries to scramble away, and his other timeline has him making frantic mental notes not to aim at her family instead. 

He can’t grab his gun, he can only attempt to escape. He tries to talk, saying, “Now, Taylor-”

That makes her lunge at him, holding him down, and start to shove her hand into his mouth, “Our name is _Regina_ , and we-”

He shuts the timeline down.

Staring at his desk, he wonders why it took so long for him to shut it down. It was clear that something broke down, for her to even be _able_ to find his base, much less break into it.

He needs to do research, and figure something out. Perhaps something with his Tattletale? He can use her and work out a solution. Granted, she’s far too smart, and might just use this as a way to wiggle away from him. Still, if he plans on not hurting Taylor Hebert, just on subverting her towards his side, he can use her to keep himself safe. 

… Not enough information, and he can’t get more without ferreting it out. He’ll want to use someone else first, test boundaries in a significantly less collateral damaging way. Maybe figure out more weaknesses. Tattletale as not a last resort, but one a bit further down the line.

Even if the idea of taking it slower when someone is _clearly_ providing Regina with information about his whereabouts and the plan behind the death of her father makes his skin itch with unhappiness. It might just be that one of his mercenaries is particularly susceptible to torture. Which, unfortunately, isn’t something he can actually fix. What is loyalty to money when their own skin is on the line? He knows he’ll rat out or leave anyone to die if it means he’s alive. Anyone does the same, and those who claim that’s not happening are just liars.

He shakes his head, and sighs at his computer. Time to make a plan, and find out what all he needs to know.


	6. Meeting New Wave

Taylor is slowly sewing together a toy, since Sabah says making animals makes her feel safer, and anything she can do to feel better is worth it. She glances at the pile of about ten bears, and thinks about maybe making another animal after this. She can stuff them, and then maybe, just maybe, feel happier and safer and-

She wraps her arms around herself, shivering. 

There’s a loud knock on the door, and she debates dismissing it. Sure, to hear it, it has to be pretty loud, but she can just pretend to not exist. It comes again, louder, and she reluctantly admits they might break the door before they believe she’s not here. As such, she puts the half-finished bear to the side, and flicks off her sewing machine before heading downstairs to the door, and peeking into the peephole. Standing in front of the door are two blonde women in severe looking business suits, and behind them are two girls, one with brown frizzy hair, and the other is a blonde that looks just a little younger than Sabah.

She flinches as one of the women knocks again, even harder, but carefully opens it, just a crack, making sure the chain is connected to keep the door from opening too wide, “Y-yes?”

The taller woman looks at her, suddenly looking warm and kind, no longer so foreboding, even if the other woman’s face is clearly pinched and unhappy. The taller woman says, voice gentle, “Taylor Hebert?”

“Y-yes?” she stutters again, “What do yo-you want?”

“We’d like to talk to you, if you’re willing. I’m Sarah Pelham, and this is my sister Carol Dallon,” the severe woman smiles at her, faintly, “my daughter Crystal,” the younger blonde grins and wiggles her fingers in a friendly wave, “and my sister’s daughter, Amy,” the brown haired girl jerks her head up in an informal nod of greeting. “Could we come in?”

Her mind twirls cogs, and she flinches as she now realizes who these people are, “Why the _hell_ would I let you in, when one of your team fucking mindraped me?” Oh, sure, it seems to be gone now, but she doesn’t know if being re-exposed will do anything to help her. In fact, she’s damn sure that it will only make her more enamoured of the girl, and she doesn’t want that. If she falls in love, it should be her doing the falling, not some Master effect yanking her face first under the water without breath in her lungs.

That earns winces from all of them, but Carol Dallon says, “Because we wish to make amends. We-”

“I don't want you here, I know you’re a lawyer and will twist my words. You think I’m stupid?” Her heart is pounding a mile a minute, and she wants to vomit, “Come back when you _don’t_ have-”

“She can leave!” Sarah says quickly. “In fact, you’re right, she shouldn’t have been here in the first place, not if we wanted to prove our good faith.”

“Sarah!” Brandish hisses. “This is about _my_ daughter, and-”

Lady Photon snaps, “No, this is about New Wave, and accountability! You will not press her, and will not be here. Go wait in the car, or leave. I’ll make sure Amy gets home safe if you take your car.”

“I can behave and keep my temper,” Taylor notes that Amy snorts and rolls her eyes at that, “so don’t think-”

“Carol.”

Brandish stops talking, clearly fuming.

Sarah continues, “She has every right to refuse you entry.” The woman looks at Taylor, “If she doesn’t come in and talk, and in fact leaves, would you be willing to allow us in?”

“... What are you even here for, and how did you even find me?”

Sarah closes her eyes and takes a breath, “This is best said in private. Please, we want to make amends.”

She looks at Brandish, “If Brandish leaves, I’ll let you three in. But you _must_ go if I tell you all to leave.”

Brandish seems to puff up a bit, “Sarah, I-”

“Deal,” Sarah says, looking at her. Turning to her sister, “Carol, please go. You’ll be told what we discuss, and how things work out.”

Brandish’s lips thin, but she nods sharply, “Fine. Amy, we’re leaving.”

Taylor says, “If Panacea leaves, then all of you do.” She isn’t really sure _why_ she says it, but it feels like she should piss off the woman who’s obstinate and rude when they should be groveling at her feet. Taylor is a _Queen_ , damn it. Regina will not be pushed around, and will not put up with it. Not when she’s so very angry.

Brandish looks ready to say something, only for Lady Photon to point toward the parked cars, “Carol, _go_.”

Brandish leaves, looking ready to spit nails. Not that Taylor cares.

She waits for the woman to get into the car, and then blinks as she takes off, roaring her motor. Rolling her eyes, she mutters, “Childish.” Looking at them with critical and disapproving eyes, she reluctantly says, “I’ll let you in.”

When everyone is in the living room, Taylor turns on the kettle to heat. She mostly just… wants something that isn’t talking to someone who isn’t family to occupy herself. When she can’t delay it any more, she walks to the living room, handing each of them a cup of hot water, and places the tray on the coffee table with the sugar, milk, and teabags.

She curls up in one of the living room chairs, pushing one of her finished teddybears off it absently, and looks at them with what she realizes are very tired eyes, “What did you want to talk about?”

Sarah Pelham sighs before sitting up straight, “We wish to make amends for what New Wave has done to you. It has been… over a week since anyone has seen you as Regina out in public, which is concerning since you’ve been out at least every other day since you first showed in public.”

She drinks her tea, staring at them, then after a bit, finally says, “Part of those amends will be telling me exactly how the hell you found out who I am.”

Crystal shifts a little in her seat, “Ah, that would be my fault. I was doing some searching for college, and part of it was researching homeschooling, and how effective it is. You were listed as a person who went to homeschooling after being bullied, and then I saw the video online of you being sho-”

She raises a hand to stop the older girl, “I think most people have seen the video of me being shoved down the steps.”

Crystal looks down, “And it showed you passing out, which is very normal during a trigger event. I noticed that the girls that pushed you abruptly stopped making their way to you, not even moving. Then figured out that your powers are stopping any sort of attack on you, so… I just….” The older girl sighs, looking at her tea, stirring it morosely, “I only told them because there was a team meeting. Otherwise, I would have kept silent. We want to make it up to you.”

Staring at them, she says, “You can’t _make it up to me_. How do you restore a sense of safety? How do you-” she closes her eyes, snapping her mouth shut. Taking a breath, slowly inhaling the smell of the tea, and says. “How are you making amends?”

Sarah gives her a kind look, and it takes… a lot more than it truly should not to just throw her tea in the woman’s face out of anger. “We want to tell you that we’ve arranged to have a tinkertech tiara made for Glory Girl to wear when on patrols and-”

“You do not _reward_ someone for Mastering someone,” she snarls.

Crystal flinches at that, Amy just nods, while Sarah looks like she’s trying to eat a lemon. Sarah says, carefully, “It isn’t a reward. It is going to keep her aura blocked.”

“And for the rest of the time? For when she _isn’t_ on patrols?”

“We can’t expect her to-”

“So you allow her to Master those around her? While out and about? At school?”

Amy smirks when Sarah looks upset, the girl saying, “That’s what _I_ told Carol.”

“She is your mother, Amy, please-”

“Nah.”

“You’re going to be living in my house, I do ask that you be polite.”

Amy hums noncommittally, and Taylor decides to refocus the conversation back on the point of why she’s even allowed them into the house. “And what if Glory Girl comes upon us when we are just out and about, perhaps not even in costume? We do not always stay inside,” she only barely notices as she sits straighter, falling into her more regal cape persona.

“Vicky doesn’t exactly hide who she is, she’s easily avoidable, so-”

“We see,” she says flatly. “New Wave’s much lauded accountability is all for naught.”

Sarah seems to… deflate at that for some reason. She says, slowly, “There is… an announcement in about a week or two, we aren’t sure of the exact date yet, but… Vicky is no longer part of New Wave. She is now in the Wards, and everyone in New Wave is being looked at for Mastering. We have clear cut cases for one member specifically, and we suspect two more. Her own father’s depression may have been… exacerbated by her aura, and we’re working on fixing things.”

“So, instead of showing the public what has happened, you just cut her loose.”

Sarah flinches, “We will be talking about what happened in the press release and handover. It is not going to be a secret or covered up.”

Staring Sarah down, Taylor says, “And this does not change how her aura will still be on the loose when not on patrol.”

Crystal puts a hand on the older woman’s arm, “I’ll explain, mom.” Focusing on Taylor, the girl says, “This is still under construction, and they’re not sure how well it will work, but the plan is to have some sort of patch put on her that works out. If not, there’s going to be a more… subdued version of the tiara for her to wear in general. She’s working with Armsmaster to do it.”

“And what of our plans to do patrols with the wards? The plans that were so violently derailed by Glory Girl’s Mastering?” 

Something she truly isn’t planning, but she will grind her heel in. she might want to at some point, but absolutely not until she finally feels safe again. That won’t be happening if Glory Girl is there to cause … problems. She won’t retraumatize herself just to make the PRT happy. Since that’s what joining patrols will do. It is purely to make the PRT happy, and perhaps show the public how Taylor isn’t a violent vigilante. 

Not that the public seems to think she is, going by the news and PHO. The news doesn’t seem to think anything of her at all, while PHO seems upset that she’s missing. She knows there are a few threads with her as the focus, some asking if anyone knows if she’s dead. There’s temptation to inform them she’s alive, but she knows that thinkers, tinkers, and even just normal people can figure out who she is just from posting in a thread. Remaining silent may make some people sad, but better not to invite more Masters to control her. She doesn’t even know if Glory Girl does it on purpose, and it gets through her powers. 

The idea of someone coming up to her, Mastering her to harm her, and her powers being unable to help has her lost and broken. Debilitated and scared. 

Sarah stares at her, then groans, hiding her face in her hands for a moment, “We were not informed of that happening.”

“We were given a card by Assault, and invited to patrol with the Wards. We are not going to do that, due to Glory Girl joining them. We shall inform them of that.”

“... Understandable.” Something about how upset Sarah looks informs her that this won’t go well with the PRT, and that anger will be tossed at New Wave. 

Good.

Sarah stands up, her voice tight, “I think that’s about all we wanted you to know, so we’ll be leaving.”

Amy says, before Taylor can respond, “I am gonna talk to Taylor first. I’ll catch up to you both.”

Taylor wants to refuse, and push them all out, but she made Carol go away and forced it so Amy would stay, so may as well take advantage. “Very well.”

The other two get up, and Crystal stops part way out the door, “Oh! Right! Vicky wanted to know if you would be willing to-”

“No.”

“She only wants to write a letter!”

She frowns, debating on it. It’s foolish, but she slowly says, “Fine. She may write us a letter.” She’ll have her father read it first, but she’s not informing them of that. If it’s garbage, he’ll tell her. If it’s bad enough, he’ll toss it without having her look at it.

“I’ll tell her, thank you.”

When the door closes, she looks at Amy, who is now sprawling across the chair, one leg up on one of the overstuffed arms, her one of her own arms across the back and other still holding a mug of tea negligently. The other girl says, “I bet you hate her.”

“Who?”

Amy laughs, head tossed back, “Vicky, of course.”

She shifts a bit in her own chair, uncomfortable. She doesn't want to admit it is more… fear. Not hate. Vicky terrifies her. Perhaps, in time, it will turn to hate, but now? Now it is horror and the idea of being exposed to such things again makes her want to burst into tears. It is only working with her hands and small talks with her father at home and that one talk with Sabah at the fabric store that has her feeling safer. 

Amy looks at her, “She made me fall in love with her.”

She stares at the other girl, “She… she is your sister? Of course you would love-”

“No, not love her in general. I said _in_ love with her.”

She winces a little at that, “Ah.”

“Yeah. Add in how I’m not sure if I’m a lesbian because of her or not, and it’s all sorts of fucked up. Even more than that, Carol has blamed me over and over for any little thing going wrong. Bitch thinks I’m gonna go nuclear and destroy everything.” Amy takes a noisy drink of her tea, looking at Taylor, “She might not be wrong.”

Staring down at her lap, she says, “You are a healer, and… Ah.” She pauses, and Amy stares at her expectantly, letting her complete her thought. “A poisoner and a healer are but the same thing, the only difference is the dosage.”

Waving a hand back and forth in a gesture of how it kind of is and isn’t correct, Amy says, “Not quite. Not in my case, anyway. Sure, I can overheal, but that’s not really how I’d explain it. It’s more….” The girl hums, then stands up, setting her mug on the tray, “Here, I’ll show you.” Amy jerks a thumb at her curtains, “I wouldn’t even do this if you didn’t all but have your house blacked out.” 

Mostly since her father doesn’t want people to harass her. There’s some nosy older neighbors who think that homeschooling is abuse for some reason. They call the police and CPS every so often, but after several times of this happening, her father has a harassment suit in the works. The worst part is they do it and think it’s to keep her _safe_ , so her power can’t exactly stop it. No matter how damned annoying it is.

“Oh?” she mumbles, watching Amy.

“Yeah, watch this.” Amy strides over to one of Taylor’s slowly dying plants and touches it. Instantly, it transforms from a plant to what looks like a sheet of suede leather. Picking it up, Amy hands it to her, then sits back in the chair. “Tada, I’m a biotinker.”

She runs her hands along the soft fuzz of the leather, folding it with care. “Not what I’d call a biotinker,” she says, relaxing her formality as she inspects it. “Not much tinkering, is there? Changing it from a plant to… this.”

“I can make other things. Living things. That’s not actually dead- it might be alive, still? It should be dead due the lifespan I gave it and how it has no blood or-” Amy shakes her head, “I can make creatures, too. Not just that.”

“Can you make fabric?”

“Uh, like what kind?”

“Wool? Cotton?”

“Sure.”

Looking at the other girl, she says, “This is amazing.”

Amy laughs, “I guess. But if I put a single foot out of line?” She drags a finger across her throat, “Krrechhh- kill order.”

“Well, you can't hurt me,” Taylor says absently. “And I don’t see a point in exposing you.”

“Thanks. Now, I should probably head out, or my aunt is gonna send me a text or something, asking if I’m okay. Can I come and talk to you about how much my sister fucked me up sometime? I can send you a text or-”

“I only have my home phone.” Her cell is in the basement, no battery, just sitting there until she can get the courage to actually patrol again. If she ever patrols again. She hopes so, but….

“I’ll call, then.”

She looks at Amy, and can see the desperation there. It’s most likely that New Wave is _not_ any fun for her, and spending time with them is hurting her. Letting the girl come and talk isn’t going to really hurt Taylor. “Okay.” She rattles off her phone number when Amy takes out her cell, and stands up to walk her to the door.

Amy touches her shoulder, “Thanks for this. I know it sucks, but maybe we can make it work out as time goes by.”

She smiles, taking the girl’s hands in her own, “With luck, we’ll both get better.” And who knows, maybe talking to someone other than her father will help. Hope is there, and maybe she’ll have more courage to leave the house on her own, and not just when dad is with her.

Sabah may not mind Taylor’s father being in the background, but Taylor would like to return to not feeling guilty about spending over an hour in a store just searching for various materials. Especially since her father has no interest in fabrics and things like that.

Amy smiles at her, “I’ll ask about coming over and spending time with you. I’d like to get better with you. It will be nice to know I’m with someone who makes it impossible for me to think I’ll hurt them, and we can both bitch about my sister.”

She laughs, possibly for the first time since the Mastering, and bids Amy goodbye. 

Watching Amy walk away and get into her car, Taylor waves until they drive off. She heads back in, cleaning up the mugs and tray without much thought, and finally settles back in her chair when she finishes. Picking up the suede, her fingers draw through the short ruff, and she feels vaguely hopeful for the future. She’s still terrified of having her mind taken away from her due to the mess with Vicky, but perhaps making friends will help.

At least, she’ll feel better being with another parahuman near her. As kind as Sabah is, she can’t exactly attack Masters with a parahuman power. Not like Amy can. 

Maybe Taylor should make more parahuman friends?

… maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This or the next one is gonna be the last chapter for awhile, I dunno if I'll be able to finish the next chapter. I'm stupidly sick, but mildly better than yesterday; who knows what will happen.


	7. Danny and Lisa

Danny watches as his daughter almost obsessively makes a plush rabbit, and carefully walks over to her. Making sure she can see him, he puts a hand on hers, “Sweetheart, I got a call from work.”

She looks up at him, “Y-yeah?” She’s doing better after that meeting with New Wave a week ago - even if he hates how they just tracked her _down_ , the bastards, and without him there to be a barrier - but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a bad day for her emotionally. “Is it good news?”

He smiles, “We’re getting more work now. They want locals to fix various streets, and the association is great for that. Well trained and know what to do.” He sighs, “Even if it isn’t actually what the dockworkers are _for_ , but work is work, right?”

She nods, “Do you need to go in?”

“I do, but I also wanted you to know what’s going on.”

“Alright.”

He kisses the top of her head, and heads back downstairs. He’s gathering up his things when there’s a knock at the door, and he looks through the peephole to see something kind of … confusing. Two girls are on his porch, one blonde and the other with brown hair. The blonde is smirking while the brown haired one is glaring. 

Opening the door, he asks, “Can I help you?”

Brunette looks at him, saying, “Hello, sir. I’m Amy. I called earlier, asking if I could come over? I’ve also brought the letter from Vicky.”

He stands a bit straighter, recognizing her now. Taylor allows the girl to come over every day since that meeting. It’s just the first time Danny’s here to see her. “Oh! Right. Thank you. And your friend?”

“She’s not my friend,” Amy informs him, glaring at the blonde. 

Said blonde smiles at Danny, “I’m Lisa. I came because I’m a parahuman, and-”

Amy grabs the girl on the exposed wrist, and hisses, “If you’re here to hurt them, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Danny stares at Amy, in shock, but Lisa just smiles even wider, “I’m not here to hurt anyone. In fact, I’d like to try helping out.”

Amy instantly relaxes, “You’re telling the truth. Still, you will behave. That is, _if_ Mr. Hebert allows you in.”

“I’ll see if Taylor is up to it. She’s not having a good day, Amy.”

Amy nods, “Yeah, I kinda got that, since you said she wasn’t up to talking to me on the phone. Thanks for letting me come anyway.”

“She said she’d like you here, so I don’t see why not.” He wants to invite her in, but he can’t due to the other girl being here. Hospitality is annoying, sometimes. “I’ll go talk to Taylor.”

“Thanks, Mr, Hebert,” both of them say at the same time, and he ignores how they glare at each other as he closes the door.

Rolling his eyes, he heads up to Taylor. Stepping into the sewing room, he says carefully, “Amy’s here.”

Instantly, she perks up, giving him a small smile. “She in the living room?”

“No, not yet. It’s just that we have another guest. A girl called Lisa.”

Taylor’s face is one of mild confusion, not a trace of recognition. “Is she… Amy’s friend?”

“No, not that I can tell, but Amy said she’s telling the truth about wanting to help you when she said that’s what she’s here for. She’s also a parahuman, so I don’t-”

Taylor hops up, flicking off the sewing machine, “We need to make sure she’s not a Master who’s controlling Amy.”

“She… doesn't seem controlled?” he says, watching his daughter rush down the stairs. Following after her, he watches her open the door, and shakes his head as she yanks in Amy with a yell.

Walking down entirely, he can see Lisa standing on the porch with her arms raised, and her saying, “It’s okay. I get you’re scared and upset, but I am here to help.”

“Yeah? What are you here to help _with_?”

Lisa glances around, “Uh, you sure you want me to say this out in public? Your neighbors are coming out, and-”

Danny rolls his eyes, “Yes, come in. Let’s be civil, girls.”

He shuts the door behind Lisa as she walks in, and turns to Amy, “You have Vicky’s letter?” That gets a nod, and Amy digging into her pocket to give it to him. “Thank you. I’ll check it over, and then Taylor can read it before I head out. Do you know what’s on it?”

Amy shakes her head, “The envelope is sealed by Vicky herself. She wanted Taylor to see it first, I’m told, but…” She shrugs, “I’m not in contact with her, so who knows.”

He chuckles, “Right.” He gently pushes Taylor to the chairs in the living room, “I’ll have the kettle set to boil, and read the letter.”

“Thank you,” all three girls say, and go to the living room. 

He doesn't want to really get involved in parahuman business, so he goes to the kitchen, and after setting up the kettle, he works on reading the letter. It is… several pages long? Basically the girl is begging for forgiveness, and never wanted this to happen. He hums when he gets to one part, and calls out, “Amy? Did Vicky _really_ stay in her bed for a day until you yanked her out?”

“Yeah!” she yells back. “She was still in her costume, too!”

“Alright, thanks!” He returns to reading, only stopping to give the girls the tray with hot water, mugs, and teabags. Generally, the letter is harmless, nothing that will make Taylor sink further into depression that he can tell, but he’s no thinker.

Once he’s done, he walks out to the living room, hearing Amy say, “I already fucking knew my dad’s the Marquis. You think I didn’t realize this after the fallout of my family?”

“Language,” he gently chides, and puts the letter on the coffee table, next to the tray. “Here this is, I think you’ll be fine reading it. Want a summary?”

“I do,” she says, glancing at the paper like it’s a bomb about to go off.

“She pretty much wants you to know how sincerely sorry she is, and that she will be doing her best to stay away from you. She also explains what she did when she left you alone in that alleyway to make your way to me while you were still Mastered.”

He reaches over, dropping to his knees with a wince, and takes her hands as she shakes. She launches herself at him and he topples over backwards painfully as she hugs him. “She didn’t even _help_ me as I was there and I could have been hurt or… or… or….”

Patting her back, he manages to say, “No one would have been able to hurt you, and you didn’t cut yourself on anything. She should have helped you, but from what the letter says, she didn’t want you under her influence any more than you already were.” 

“I _kissed_ her, daddy! I never would have done it if I wasn’t Mastered!”

He knows his daughter well, and knows that’s true. She might, someday, choose to trust someone in a romantic way, but never the first time she meets them. It’s a violation on Glory Girl’s part, even if the girl didn’t mean to. 

He holds Taylor for a long moment, finally saying, “I know, Taylor, I know. Now, let me sit up? I’m in a lot of pain right now.”

Taylor blinks at him, and slowly gets up. “R-right. Sorry.” She moves away, “Do you need help up, or-”

He holds up his arms, “Help me.”

Taylor starts to reach for him, but Amy moves closer, “Mr. Hebert, would you like me to heal you so you can get up on your own?”

“Yes, please.”

She clasps his hand, and he can _feel_ himself get better. Once she lets him go, he stands up, completely without pain. Amy looks him over, and nods, “There you go. Fully healed. No forming ulcer and that badly healed knee is fixed.”

“How’d you get that, anyway?” Taylor asks, looking curious.

“Union buster,” he and Lisa say at the same time. Glancing over at her, “How’d you know?”

Amy snorts, “She’s a Thinker. A high ranking one, too.”

“Oh, well, can you tell me if the letter will help Taylor if she reads it?”

Lisa looks at it, and asks, “Could I glance through it first? The more information I have, the better I do.”

“Sure.”

She takes it, and flips through the pages, saying, “Not today. Maybe when she’s feeling more stable. Right now it won’t _hurt_ her, but it certainly won’t help. But on a better day, she’ll feel better for it.”

He looks at Taylor, “Are you willing to wait until you’re in a better headspace?”

She looks at the letter apprehensively, “... yeah.”

“I’ll go put it away, so you aren't tempted.” At her nod, he takes it, and walks up the stairs. It goes in his room, and he puts it in his bedside drawer. Easy to take out when he knows she’s feeling better. When he’s back downstairs, he says, “I need to head out, will you all be fine?”

They all agree, and he hugs Taylor before leaving. 

With luck, the house will still be standing when he comes home.

\--

Lisa watches as Mr. Hebert leaves, and slowly turns to the other girls, hands wrapped around her mug of tea. Keeping a tight grip on her power, she starts to suggest they do something, only for Taylor to stand up, and say with a voice that sounds on the brink of tears, “Would it be okay if we talk in the sewing room?”

Instantly standing up, she says, “Yes, of course. How about I clean this up?”

“We all will,” Amy says flatly, helping gather the dishes to take to the kitchen. Taylor follows them, looking awkward and worried, but not arguing.

When it is all cleaned up and put away, they follow Taylor up the stairs, Amy behind her. She doesn’t need her powers to know that the girl is making sure she isn’t going to go snoop. Not that she’ll bother. She’s here on Coil’s orders, but all his orders are, is to genuinely become her friend. 

This is taking her from the Undersiders to do it, too, so she’s not sure how they’re getting on without her. But not much she can do about it. Gun to her head, and all that. At least she’s just ambivalent towards them more than friends. Maybe if she were in the group longer, she’d like them more. But honestly, the best of the batch is Grue, and that boy wasn’t exactly her type.

Walking into the sewing room, she can’t help but smile and shake her head. It looks like Taylor has been sewing nonstop, and there’s offcuts and sections of unfinished outfits and stuffed animals all over. She shoos Taylor to the sewing machine, “Amy and I will clean up, don’t worry.”

“O-okay,” comes the nervous answer, looking at her with lost and scared eyes. 

She pretends not to notice, just using a sliver of her power to best place everything she’s removing from the two overstuffed chairs on the side. She even manages to uncover a coffee table to place in front of them.

Amy looks at it, “Huh, didn’t know that was there.”

Taylor says, distractedly as she puts some finishing touches on a stuffed rabbit, “It was in the way, so I pushed it under the shelves.”

“Any reason you seem to have an entertaining area here?”

“Sabah said that possible clients like it, but I thought I’d end up inviting her over to show things until I realized I have my unfinished cape outfits here.” A small bit of her powers reveals this ‘Sabah’ is a sewing friend of Taylor’s, and she clamps down before the lack of more information means she doesn’t actually figure out more about it. She’d rather _meet_ this Sabah and figure out more from there.

“Understandable,” she says, lounging in the now clean chair. It isn’t as comfortable as the ones in the living room, but she wouldn’t be surprised if Taylor originally meant to make pillows as a way to soften them. And since she wasn’t expecting to actually have cape visitors, why bother doing that?

Amy is walking over to the window, “You got my project?”

“I put it in the closet last night, since it was getting pretty big.” Taylor sounds more nervous as she says, “You said that would be fine?”

“Yeah, it’s cool.” Amy opens up a door on the side of the room, and it reveals what looks like a walk-in closet full of dresses. Amy easily pushes them all back, revealing it is more the dresses making it _look_ like the dresses fill it up entirely, when it’s only about five or six. The girl pulls out a large pot with an odd looking plant in it. 

Her power gets away before she can stop it, due to her curiosity. Essentially, it’s a plant that makes medicine of various types, and Panacea isn’t just a healer, but a biokinetic. One who is very much an illegal biotinker, especially in this city. She forcibly reins her power back in tightly, _again_. She’s trying to use it as minimally as she can, since she has enough time to figure things out slowly. There’s no time limit on this from what she can tell, and she is going to take advantage, damn it.

She grimaces, “How are you _not_ being seen by Director Piggot?”

“What? It’s not like that bitch fucking pays attention to parahumans not under her command. Especially not overeager to heal her Panacea,” Amy sneers, then pokes aggressively at her plant. “I hate her so much.”

Near as Lisa can tell, Amy hates… a lot of things. Herself being near the top of the list, only getting beaten out by Glory Girl for Mastering her into falling in love with her.

That’s… not a good thing, and makes her glad that _she_ isn’t Mastered into loving Glory Girl, too. She doesn't want to be part of the ‘I unwillingly love a flying brick’ club, thanks.

Even if Taylor no longer has any attraction to the newest Ward, from what Lisa can tell. The girl is still violently traumatized and terrified of it happening again. Lisa is half tempted to get Coil to help pay for a restraining order. It would make a nice legal way to demand that Glory Girl not come near her. Not that Victoria Dallon will ever intentionally come to bother Taylor. 

The few times Lisa sees the girl when she patrols, Glory Girl is … significantly less vibrant than before. It’s obvious to even those without a Thinker power how something is happening. Oh, sure, the announcement from New Wave and the PRT both talk about Mastering powers that are temporary unless exposed to them for years in consistent exposure means that most people aren’t worried, but those who think about it can put together the fact that Regina is now gone and Glory Girl just so happens to now be in the Wards. 

There are several threads on local parahuman conspiracy boards - PHO too mainstream for most of the people there, angry about mods and those with actual logic explaining they shouldn’t do things they do - saying how Vicky’s only a Ward to cover up Regina’s murder. Lisa hopes that Taylor can survive the scrutiny that will inevitably ensue should the girl start patrolling again.

A glance at Taylor has her severely doubting that Taylor will patrol without a group of her own deciding.

… and she’s damn sure that if Taylor doesn’t ask, then Coil is going to force it in what way he can. Her power also knows that the man won’t be able to get _any_ information about Taylor from Lisa, due to her knowing that horrible man will use any information to hurt the vulnerable girl, but that doesn’t mean Coil won’t force things where he can.

She sighs, eyes drawing along Panacea and Regina, and knows that plans tighten around them. She can only hope that she’ll get out of it all unscathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter for this for now. New fic on Tuesday. I'm debating on what snippet to post next. I'll figure it out, but i might get a list of options on the SB and/or SV threads for what to do. 
> 
> I'm still very sick, though. Bluh.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be posting every Tuesday, as usual.


End file.
